


Daffodils and Graves That Came Too Soon

by IAmWhelmed



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Robin: Son of Batman (Comics), Son of Batman (2014), Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Damian Wayne-centric, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt Damian Wayne, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Jonathan Samuel Kent, Unrequited Love, canon-typical blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmWhelmed/pseuds/IAmWhelmed
Summary: Jon leaned across from him at their lunch table with gooey, gross eyes that made him sick in the most unpleasant way, and a dumb smile on his wobbling lips that made him look straight out of a cartoon, and he said: “I think I’m in love!”And he felt his world fall apart.Damian thought, all this time, that Jon felt the same as he did, that he wanted him as much as he wanted Jon. When he finds out he's been wrong this whole time, he slips up in a battle, and the consequence leaves him with a debilitating disease... now his broken heart is literally going to be the end of him.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne/Original Character(s), Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne, Zatanna Zatara & Damian Wayne
Comments: 24
Kudos: 117





	Daffodils and Graves That Came Too Soon

Superboy & Robin-- it was who they were, in and out of the mask. Their bickering, the name-calling, the occasional knock-out-drag-out fist fight where their dads had to pull them apart, a total mess of ripped hoodies and bruised skin under a red-yellow tunic. Not a single thing had changed over the years.

“Hayseed.”

“Jerk.”

“Hey, D.”

“Hey, Buddy.”

Round and round, again like Robin climbing in through his window and offering a hand that told Jon Kent there was an adventure ahead, a night full of wonder, mystery, danger. He looked forward to the way Jon’s eyes would light up, big, blue, sparkling in the moon, grin one-sided and cocky, like he could ever keep up with him. “Where we headed tonight, D?”

“You’ll just have to find out.”

And they got closer, more comfortable. Maybe it was because Jon had stretched out at the arms, gotten wider, not like his dad, but like a running back on the football team, maybe it was because he stayed thinner like Drake that it was more efficient to hold to Jon’s shoulders… or maybe it was because he wanted to. Jon took him by the hand flew him out of face of a boulder three sizes larger than needed to end him like a fly under foot, and Jon wrapped an arm over his shoulders at school dances when he wasn’t surrounded by people who liked him, who wanted to talk to him, who saw how good he was and wanted a piece of that for themselves. He could still piggyback him if he tried, and Jon suggested it here and there when his legs didn’t wanna move or a bone had forgotten its place in his calf, but the last time, he’d been 15 years old and feeling Jon’s back against his chest made him feel delightfully sick, made his heart beat fast, and he was worried Jon could tell. So they didn’t do that anymore, he wouldn’t let him.

Because he liked Jon, loved him, more than anyone, more than he loved the Robin mantle, more than he loved the katana at his back, he loved Jon. He loved Jon and the way their eyes just seemed to find each other at either side of the hall, he loved Jon and the way their shoulders brushed when he was yapping on about this and that, and their lockers opened across from each other. He loved the way Jon looked when he watched him playing football in the backyard of the school at lunchtime, eyes thin, but so thick with valiance, with goodness, with faith in himself, control. He loved the way he’d wipe at his forehead with his arm and shoot him a look from across the way, the way sweat would drip to his lips and he’d lick it off-- _god_ , that farmboy didn’t know what he did to him.

Or maybe he did, because he was always _touching_ him when they were training together. Alone in their fortress (not of attitude, no matter how many times Jon called it that, the name would not stick), eyeing each other from across the training mat.

He’d go for a lunge and Jon would have him pinned to the floor three times by the end of the night-- first by the wrists, pressed to the floor with his arms raised over his head, Jon leaning over him with a grin on his face and in his eyes; second by the back, with his face down on the matt and his arms twisted behind him, one of Jon’s knees at his back; third by the hips, hands stuck between Jon’s knees, hands, and the matt. Of course, he always won, would always find a way out of those various little ways Jon would delude himself into thinking he had the upper hand, but he’d have been lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he let it happen, that Jon probably knew he let it happen. Because he wanted him that close, because he was hoping the next time, every time, that Jon would lean down and pin his head to the matts with a kiss. He swore, sometimes, that Jon would look like he wanted to, like he was thinking about it, his fingers would twitch at his wrists like he was thinking about it, and his face would go soft, and he’d wonder in those moments if Jon could hear his heartbeat, was listening in, if he heard what it wanted him to do.

He never did, but he swore, swore Jon wanted to. He swore Jon felt the same way, that that’s what Jon’s curled nose and lips were telling him when they were fighting, what his tone was trying to say between “You’re such a jerk!” and “I’m still taller than you, ya know!” He swore that Jon’s eyes said “ _oh there you are, Lover_ ” when they’d find each other again at the edge of a villain’s volcano base, at the depths of the ocean helping Aqualad, in the jungle surrounded by crowds of robots they may or may not have accidentally led to each other-- and maybe that’s because he knew his own eyes were always saying “ _found you, Beloved_ ”.

Until he didn’t think that anymore, until Jon leaned across from him at their lunch table with gooey, gross eyes that made him sick in the most unpleasant way, and a dumb smile on his wobbling lips that made him look straight out of a cartoon, and he said: “I think I’m in love!”

And he felt his world fall apart.

“Oh? And who would this unfortunate girl be?” He scooped soup onto his spoon and sipped politely at it, closed his eyes like he was savoring what little taste the cafeteria clam chowder had to offer when he was really taking the moment to hide the way his eyes were screaming, burning, skin swelling. He kept his voice even, uninterested, like Jon was expecting, probably, like he would have reacted to anyone else. He was nothing if not a professional. An actor, a boy who had a million faces if he needed to, like his father, like his mother taught him. From anyone else, Jon might have expected a smile, a teasing look, eyes alight in interest, but Jon understood him (maybe… not as well as he’d _thought_ Jon had understood him), probably expected eyerolls and sidesmirks and jabs at his vulnerability despite his kryptonian blood, so that was what Jon would get. He’d get a fake smile, a jab with no heart in it, and then he’d act like this never happened, he’d avoid talking about it and pray that he never made a move on this girl because he knew she’d say yes, whoever she was. She had to, he was Jon, and perhaps it was wrong to wish he’d fail, but he wasn’t sure he could take it if Jon started seeing her.

He wasn’t sure they could be Superboy & Robin anymore.

“Her…” Jon’s voice was soft, gentle, like he’d woken up from a dream to find it’d been real, and his eyes were glossy and so, so lost in a sea he couldn’t pull him back from. He glanced across the table, found one pretty blonde girl at a lunch table yards away, smiling at something one of her friends were saying. Typical. Of course he’d want her. Pretty, small waist, breasts that brushed together and created a valley perfect for exploring, perfect lips-- blue, blue eyes just like Jon’s. Of course. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to take his bowl and toss it at Jon’s face, throw some fists at him in the middle of the cafeteria… but he wouldn’t.

“How predictable.”

Jon’s eyes snapped back to him, the beginnings of annoyance itching at the corner of his lip. “Hey, I like her for way more than her…” His eyes shifted to her, then back. “Okay, she’s really pretty, but she’s really smart! And she’s cute!” He was talking with his hands, like he was making a point, like he was listening to him ramble when he wanted to be anywhere but there, doing anything but hearing his heart crack again and again and again. He wanted Jon to shut up, wanted to disappear in the crowds of students, wanted to never see her face-that-probably-isn’t-as-smart-as-Jon-says again. Jon scoffed and pressed his puffed cheek into his hand, propped up by the elbow. “You don’t ever look at anybody and just wanna… kiss them?”

He nearly bit his tongue between his raised teeth, mad that he had the _audacity_ to ask him that, mad that he had to answer with a straight face, mad that he couldn’t make a dash for the academy doors and leave Jon sitting there all by himself because that was what he wanted to do right then. He instead cocked an eyebrow. “I think you’re forgetting something important, Hayseed.”

“Huh?”

He stood up with his tray, intent on spending the rest of his lunch period in the bathroom, holed up where nobody would bother him, where Jon wouldn’t think to look for him. That way he could be alone, the one thing Jon promised him he’d never be, the one thing he’d told him again and again he didn’t have to be. Well, right then he wanted to be. He shot Jon a glance over his tray. “They have to want to kiss me, too.”

He tossed his tray, and if Jon called after him, if Jon asked him where he was going (he did, his eyes grew wide, and he looked upset with his furrowed brows and hands messy with his cheap burger), he didn’t answer.

* * *

He’d locked himself in his room the moment his feet hit the Wayne Manor grounds. He wasn’t going to look at anybody, do anything. He threw himself on his bed and dug his face into the pillow with the pent-up urge to tear it apart and burn every feather to bits. How had he been so foolish? He knew how to read eyes, see lies, pick up on the intentions of man and woman alike in the way they picked at their nails, the way they glance from side to suspicious side. He must have read Jon wrong, must have imagined the smiles, the touches, the tenderness in the way he carried him back to base when he was hurt…

He shook his head, growled at himself, lips twisting into a sneer. _Stop it. Stop thinking about him. You were wrong. You wanted him to like you so badly that you made all of these stupid little signs up, and look where that got you. Wanting him only hurts you, you stupid little fool. How could you ever think--_? He winced, felt his eyes burn. How could he ever think Jon would want him? Of course he didn’t. He would never want somebody so broken, so violent, who makes fun of him, who calls him names and mocks him at every turn. Of course Jon wouldn’t want to kiss him, with his scars, his scowl, his eyes that mark him green like his envy and green like his mother.

Of course he wanted the pretty girl with the pretty laugh and the sweet eyes, sweet like his, good like his. _How could he ever love me?_ The tears burned and fell from his eyes, painted trails down his cheeks, left them red and swollen, so he let the building sob in his chest escape in the safety of his room and he dug his face into the soft white of his pillows and wished he could just take it all away, wished he could just rip the pain out of his chest and stifle it dead, smother it with fire or bury it alive under mounds of dirt. He’d give it a burial, give it peace, then slather it in cement in the case that it rose from the dead like a figment of the horror movies.

Had he really imagined the gentleness in his hands when he grabbed him by the shoulder? Had he imagined Jon burying his face into his hair the rare time he found the lack of dignity to seek a hug? Had he imagined feeling Jon’s eyes burning holes into his face as they slept turned together in the woods, in bags tucked to the chin, set at the ground, side-by-side? When their hands reached for the ship controls at the same time, when they were tied up with their noses brushing and their hearts beating together… had Jon really not felt anything? Had it only been him, all this time? Had he really fooled himself into believing… _believing that Jon wanted to be with him, too_?

He sniffed, raised his arms to wipe at his face. Crying over a boy, how childish. He should have cut it off before he ever got to that point, should have stripped himself of Jon the moment he realized he was getting too attached. It was what his Father did, it was the smart thing to do.

He’d have to do that, now, wouldn’t he? Cut Jon off, put space between them. They couldn’t be Superboy & Robin anymore, not when he felt like this, not if there was a chance he could look up, meet Jon’s eyes, and fool himself into feeling _hope_ . No, he shook his head, he needed to end this cycle before it even began. But Jon wouldn’t take that, wouldn’t hear him say “ _I’m through_ ” and just accept it, wouldn’t let him walk away without a reason-- he had to make Jon _want him to go_ . He had to be a jerk, say things, mean things, poke at flaws Jon had entrusted to him with confidence in their friendship. But could he do that? Could he hurt Jon like that just to avoid saying “ _I can’t do this anymore, I’m in love with you and it hurts_ ”, to avoid seeing his happy blue eyes turn sad, hearing him beg “ _D, please, I don’t wanna lose you,_ ” because he knew he would. He knew it.

Something hit his bedroom window, set him leaping up in bed, on his feet, hands balled, ready for combat.

But the window cracked open, one side teetering open with a creaking noise, slow and true, the other pressed to the side with a tentative hand; he felt his face fall. Superboy stood-- _flew-_ \- just outside his window, S on his chest in all its glory under the moonlight, starlight as his red cape, snug against the rest of his hoodie, billowed in the autumn air. _What is he doing here_ ? Probably came to talk him off the ledge, try to smooth things over with him, try to get him to go back to bickering with him when he didn’t even want to see his face. He’d promised him, after all, that he’d never be alone. _What a dummy,_ his head meant the words but his heart gave a playful tilt to the nickname. _Didn’t I make it clear I didn’t want to talk to him_? But that idiot was at his window, smiling sheepishly, looking like he was sorrier for stalking his window than breaking his heart. “Hey D,” he waved, “Uh, so… don’t tell your dad about this, okay?” His father was probably well aware a super was flying meters over his lawn, but the lack of artillery aimed at Jon’s back told him he was okay with it. Must have figured that Jon was there on Super Sons business… or maybe that he just wanted to see him.

Did he ever just want to see him?

He turned around, stepped down off his bed and didn’t look at him. “What are you doing here, Jon?” Jon, not Kent, not Hayseed, not Superboy-- he could hear Jon inhale.

“You just, uh, looked a little out of it after lunch today, is all?” He’d avoided him in the halls, said nothing to him in their last shared period together. Jon had stared holes into his face all period, twisting around in his desk when the teacher wasn’t looking. He’d gotten himself scolded a few times, had rubbed the back of his neck and smiled and muttered _sorry_ to the interrupted class. “And you didn’t tell me where you were going so--”

“So what, you need to know where I am all the time? Are you planning to put a tracker on me, now?” No, he knew better, that’s not what Jon was saying, he was just worried that something happened, maybe that he got into a fight with one of his brothers over call, that somebody was trying to pick a fight with him between classes, whatever. He wasn’t a bat, he was the sun, a good boy just like his father who wrote down names and not blood types. He would never. He knew that.

Jon exhaled, and he could see the sad puppy look in his eyes without even turning around. He crossed his arms instead. “D, I just thought you could use some adventure.”

“Adventure?” He turned around then, but kept his arms tight to his chest. Jon brightened up at the change, shoulders straightening when they’d gone slack.

“C’mon, I heard there’s this wizard running around Metropolis, quote unquote granting wishes, casting curses, typical magic stuff. Sounds pretty harmless, and I think I tracked her down to one cave down by the rivers. You and I could take her out in an hour.” And he smiled, and in the light of the moon that carried him in the sky like a halo, he held a hand out to him. Damian swallowed, eyes growing wider as he took in the hand he wanted to hold, wanted to hold so badly, and the small smile on Jon’s face, the soft eyes, the hope plain as day to read in the small twitch of his eye. _Oh_ , he loved him. He loved him more than anything. His heart beat in his chest and it begged him to move forward, to wrap his arms around Jon’s neck, to kiss him into silence, pull him into the bedroom and close the windows behind him as he sunk into his bed and pulled Superboy in with him.

 _Damian, you idiot, think_. He couldn’t do this anymore, he’d just made that call. But it wasn’t a bad opportunity, to break it to Jon that they couldn’t be the Super Sons anymore, that he couldn’t see him anymore (or at least as often), that he didn’t… couldn’t…. be his best friend, anymore.

One last mission, just one. He sighed. “I don’t have my uniform, let me go--”

“We can stop by the fortress on the way!”

Jon reached out gripped Damian by the hand and pulled him closer. Damian exhaled and used his windowsill as a stepping stool. “Fine,” to his surprise, Jon wrapped an arm around his waist, pulled him snug up against his chest, into him like he’d dip him if he wanted to, and he squeaked “what! What do you think you’re doing!” His cheeks went red, and his voice was raised two pitches higher than it ever, ever should have been. Their lower halves brushed, rubbed flush together, and he had to bite his tongue and focus on the panic in his chest to keep his body from making any unintentional adjustments. But their faces were still inches apart, perfectly platonic, and Jon tilted his head in confusion.

“I’m flying you to the base? D, are you sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“S-Shut up and get moving, farmboy!”

Jon blinked at him a few times, openly scrutinizing him, but shrugged nevertheless and took off into the air. In an ideal world, Jon was holding him close, one arm around his waist, the other raised in the super fist at the sky, and his arms would be wrapped around Jon’s neck from under him, and he’d see his face from below and watch the way the night made him shine.

But Jon didn’t love him, so he was instead held against his side, one arm under his arms where he couldn’t slip, and Jon could see him staring clearly, if he let himself go. Before today he might have, because he’d have thought Jon would look back at him and blush, pull him closer. He’d have been held the same way and he’d have thought it was because he wanted to hold his Robin close… but that wasn’t the case, and he knew that, now. No, Jon saw him as a friend, just a friend, and he’d been fooling himself into thinking he felt the same way. So he hung his head and stared pointedly at the ground, and if he noticed Jon looking at him, if Jon noticed the red swell of his eyes, he didn’t acknowledge it.

**Author's Note:**

> Important to note that this is SO not replacing IICBETY, this is just an idea I've wanted to write for a SUUUUPER long time, and is really easy to write, if not merely time consuming. So, I'll update this whenever I have extra energy after writing other stuff.
> 
> Hope Damian isn't to OOC! Don't be shy! Tell me what you think! It's pretty unpolished too, so don't be shy about constructive criticism <3


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